_INTO THE UNKNOWN WILDERNESS._
On Saturday morning, the 8th of July, without guide or map, we commenced
our journey into the great untravelled wilderness. The trail commenced
with a portage two miles in length, leading through thickets, swamps, and
over rocky hills, but by this time the men were accustomed to their work,
and went about it in a steadier and more methodical manner. My brother’s
time was chiefly devoted to the general direction of the party, and an
examination of the geology of the country.[2] My own time was largely
taken up in making the survey and topographical notes of the route, and
in collecting the flora of the country; but when our duties permitted and
occasion required we both took a turn at the pack-straps, as we did on
this portage.
In order to make an easier trail than the existing circuitous one, which
led over sharp angular stones and precipitous rocks, we were obliged to
cut our way through a thicket for a distance of half a mile. Having done
this, the work of portaging through the forest was begun. During the
remainder of the day, and indeed until ten o’clock at night, we continued
our labor. Corrigal, who had been crippled, was now at work again, and
proved to be a capital hand. All hands worked well, but it was amusing to
note the craftiness of the Iroquois, who invariably tried to secure such
articles to carry as biscuits, tents or dunnage bags. With immense loads
of comparatively little weight they would then stagger off like old Atlas
himself.
When the last loads for the week were laid down at camp, we were a
thoroughly tired party. For the past six days we had been laboring on
long portages, and during that time had carried the entire outfit for
a distance of about eight miles, over the roughest kind of country,
representing a total transport of fifty-six miles, or a walk of 104 miles
for each man. Sunday was spent, therefore, by all in enjoying complete
rest. The weather continued fine and warm, as it had been all week.
During the succeeding day and a half six little lakes and as many short
portages, leading in a northerly direction, were crossed, and then at
noon on the 11th inst. Wolverine Lake was discovered and its position
in latitude determined. This lake, only about three miles in width by
six in length, is by no means a large body of water, but because of its
many deep shore indentations and consequent coast-line of forty or fifty
miles, it was thought by us to be large enough before we discovered our
road out of it, which we knew to be by the ascent of a large river from
the north. The shores of the lake were heavily and beautifully wooded
with spruce and birch timber, and its surface was studded with islands.
At nightfall, after exploring the uttermost recesses of several deep
bays, without discovering any trace of the river, we pitched camp, and
obtained shelter from a cold drizzling rain.
The next morning being cool, and flies scarce, a plunge bath was the
first item on the programme. After disposing of our usual breakfast of
bacon and bannocks, the search for the route was resumed. After much
careful search, occupying nearly the whole day, the mouth of the river
was found, close to where we had first entered the lake. It was much
obscured by islands, and owing to the depth of the channel had an almost
imperceptible current; but beyond all doubt it was the road described
by the Indians, and though rain was again falling, no time was lost in
commencing the ascent.
About seven miles up stream we were obliged to seek camp, but a suitable
one was not to be found, as the shores were low and flooded with water. A
place none too dry was finally selected, and in a drenched condition we
scrambled or waded ashore.
As I was enjoying a mug of tea, my brother came into our tent and
reported having heard a cariboo calf in the swamp close by. Though it
was already nearly dark, I picked up my rifle and started out in the
direction from which he had heard the noise, in quest of venison. The
dense spruce swamp was literally alive with mosquitos, which at every
step rose up from the wet grass in swarms, and beat into my face. A
runway was soon found, and I hurried noiselessly along through the gloom
of the forest, hoping soon to hear something of the calf. Many other
runways were crossed, and after travelling some distance without any
signs of success, I was about to return, for fear of being overtaken by
darkness, when a little distance ahead I heard the cracking of a stick.
It was, no doubt, caused by the foot of the fawn. Quickly but silently
I proceeded. Again and again the noise was heard, and each time nearer
than the last. My advance was continued cautiously, until very soon, in
a thicket of scrub, only a few yards ahead, I noticed the moving of some
branches. Still no deer could I see, but in creeping up closer, at a
distance of not over twenty yards, I suddenly came within full view of an
immense black bear, seated on his haunches and occupied in rubbing the
mosquitos off his nose. Although taken by surprise at the proportions
of the supposed calf, I dropped on one knee, and, levelling my rifle,
fired at the back of bruin’s head, whereat he also exhibited considerable
surprise by leaping into the air, making several delirious revolutions,
and bolting away into the gloom of the swamp. Though in all probability
badly wounded, it was too dark to follow him. The gloom had already
spoiled my aim, so without further pursuit I groped my way back to camp.
During the following day the ascent of Wolverine River was continued,
and three short portages, the longest one being half a mile, were made.
As we proceeded northward the banks of the river became more rocky. In
many places bald hill-tops were visible, rising two or three hundred
feet above the level of the river. Such timber as there was consisted of
spruce, birch and jack-pine.
On the 14th, Birch Lake, a small body of water about nine miles long by
two wide, was discovered and surveyed, and near its northern extremity a
large rapid stream was found emptying into it its foaming waters. Judging
the course of this stream to be our route, a portage of half a mile was
made past it. This brought us to the southern extremity of another larger
lake, which we assumed to be the Indians’ so-called “Big Lake,” and which
in honor of the then Director of the Geological Survey we have named
Selwyn Lake. Being too wide to admit of both shores being sketched from
our line of survey, this lake was traversed on the east side only.
[Illustration: A. R. C. SELWYN, C. M. G., F. R. S., _Director Geological
Survey, 1869-1895._]
In the evening camp was pitched on an island a little distance off shore.
On this island a lonely grave was discovered, at the head of which stood
a plain wooden cross. It was, doubtless, the grave of some Christian
Indian who had been taught by the priests at Fond-du-Lac, and who, when
out on a hunting expedition, had been stricken down by the great reaper,
and by his companions had been laid here to rest.
This island camp recalls an incident connected with John, our baker. For
some time past, notwithstanding the appetites of the men, his bread had
not been giving satisfaction. Some of the party were afraid to eat it on
account of the possibilities of canoeing accidents, which would be almost
certain to result fatally, for with John’s bread in one’s stomach there
could be little hope of remaining afloat. At first John had confined his
baking to the making of grease bannocks, which, after being formed in a
pan, were removed and cooked before the fire on a stick; and so long as
he baked in his accustomed way he was fairly successful, but as soon as
he undertook the use of baking powder, and the production of bread from a
reflector (a camp oven) he grievously failed. Being anxious to uphold the
dignity of his profession at this camp, he sat up all night endeavoring
to improve on his methods, but with little success. Two days later he
again undertook the prosecution of his calling, and after cleaning his
hands, brought out his dutch-oven, bake-pans, sack of flour, baking
powder, etc. My brother, noticing these preparations, strolled over to a
convenient log and there seated himself to watch John’s _modus operandi_.
The sack was opened and the top of it rolled down until it formed a ring
over the flour, in which a hollow was then made with the hands. Into
this basin a quart or more of water was poured, and _into the water
the prescribed quantity of baking powder was stirred and allowed to
effervesce_. We now understood the secret of John’s failures, and gave
him instructions on the use of baking powder. After this we enjoyed
better bread.
A week had now passed since leaving the end of the long portage out of
Black Lake, and during that time we had made only about eighty miles.
This was a slow rate of travel, and if possible would have to be improved
on. One day had been lost in discovering the outlet from Wolverine Lake,
another spent in ascending the river, and considerable time had been
occupied on the several portages.
Sunday, the 16th of July, was spent quietly and profitably at camp after
the six days of hard travel, and, strange to say, the flies which had
filled the air and made our lives a burden the previous evening had now
almost entirely disappeared. The day was bright and warm, affording a
good opportunity for lake bathing. This pleasure was highly prized. After
one has been subjected to the continual lacerations and stings of flies
and mosquitos, and the liberal application of tar-oil for a week or two,
a bath is not only a luxury, but a necessity.
On Monday morning the exploration of Selwyn Lake was continued. The
shore-line was still found to be irregular and indented by deep bays.
Some of these were passed by, but those toward the north end of the lake
were carefully examined to their extremities, in our search for the
portage, of which we had been informed, leading over the Height of Land.
Towards evening our party was surprised by the appearance of a canoe
some distance away, and not far from it, on a little island, an Indian
camp. Shaping our course for the camp, a salute was fired, and was
promptly answered by the Indians. Reaching the camp we were not a little
astonished to find that some of the Indians were the very same men who
had agreed to assist us over the portages out of Athabasca and Black
Lakes. They had, no doubt, after meeting old Moberly, been prompted to
leave us to shift for ourselves, and had returned in such a way as to
avoid meeting us again. From them we now inquired for the Height of Land
portage, and were pleased to learn that it was near at hand. Having
obtained as much information from these fellows as we could, and arranged
once more for three or four of them to assist us over in the morning, we
pitched our own camp on a neighboring island.
During the evening most of the Indians paddled across to where we were,
and from some of them sketch-maps and useful information were obtained;
but their attention was chiefly devoted to filling the men with stories
of the fearful dangers and certain disasters which we would encounter
should we attempt to descend the Telzoa River. They said we would meet
with great impassable canyons, and that the country through which it
flowed was inhabited by savage tribes of Eskimos, who would undoubtedly
eat us. These and similar stories produced a deep impression on the minds
of some of our men, and might have given rise to serious trouble or even
the disorganizing of the whole party. Jim went to my brother, and with a
sad face unbosomed his trouble. He said that if he were a single man he
would not feel so badly, but having a family dependent on him he could
not run into such destruction as he now learned awaited us. Most of the
men, excepting, perhaps, François, who cared for nothing, were equally
affected, and it was with some difficulty we managed to reassure them.
We told them that these Indians were a set of miserable liars, and were
only trying to prevent us from going into their hunting grounds; that I
had lived with the Eskimos for nearly two years, and had found them to
be far better people than these Indians who were trying to deceive them.
We referred them to Moberly, the untrustworthy and false, as a sample of
their tribe, and at length persuaded them into disbelieving the stories.
On the morning of the 18th, accompanied by five native Indians, we
arrived at our portage near the northern extremity of the lake, and about
fifty miles from the rapids where we had entered it. The portage led,
as we had been informed by the Indians, over the Height of Land to the
northward. It was found to be a mile and a quarter long. Its northern end
terminated on the shore of another large lake, the level of which was
ascertained to be about fifty feet lower than Selwyn Lake. Separating
the two lakes, rocky hills rose to elevations of two or three hundred
feet (fourteen or fifteen hundred feet above sea level), and between them
wound the trail, which was comparatively level and easy. With the help of
the natives, our stuff, already considerably reduced, was soon portaged,
and the canoes again launched and loaded. Before these operations were
completed, realizing the fact that we had now reached a summit of the
continent, it seemed to me a most suitable place to leave the emblem
of our country. Selecting, therefore, a tall, straight tamarack, and
providing myself with bunting and hatchet, I climbed to the top of the
tree and there nailed securely the flag of Canada. As I descended, I
lopped off the branches and thus made of the tree an excellent flag-pole.
[Illustration: SCOTCH-CREE HALF-BREED.]